


Paint Pots and Guitar Frets

by evelynntine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Chris Evans (Fandom)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Chris Evans x Original Female Character, Chris Evans x ofc, Death, F/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Original Character(s), Swearing, artist Chris Evans, basically I was watching that interview where Chris said he thought he'd go to art school, cheesy links to irl CEvans, much swearing, musician ofc, probably, this is an au where he actually did
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6188785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynntine/pseuds/evelynntine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has lost his muse . . . and he hasn't painted a single piece worth anything since he lost it.<br/>So his manager's sent him to Ireland so he can find it again.<br/>He finds some inspiration in the land and a little bit more in the people around him and then he finds something, he's not quite sure what it is, but there's something wonderful just emanating from the fiery young Irish woman who owns the town pub. But will they be able to make it work despite both of their pasts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Wakey wakey!” Shouted the male voice as he pulled open the thick iron door to his best friends apartment. “Rise and shine!” The door slid to the side with an almighty boom and if everyone in the building hadn’t already been awake (and they definitely were because it was the mid afternoon), they definitely would be now.

The fifth floor apartment of a previously abandoned factory was one large open space. With haphazardly drilled in place sections of drywall separating the living space, ‘bedroom’ (which was really just a bed and a wardrobe) and the bathroom, it could hardly be called any more than a squat, let alone a home. The room was light inside but it was that sort of half-hearted light that comes when the building in hidden behind a much taller, much wider skyscraper that blocks most of the sun.

Inside, laying on the sofa, was the Captain, better known as Chris Evans. He was known as The Captain in the art community; he signed his pieces as The Captain, wrote blog posts as The Captain and occasionally even referred to the artist inside him as The Captain. Chris had always been a private man, he just couldn’t stand people knowing who he was and this whole ‘Captain’ business worked out. The mystery was part of the allure. Think Banksy but slightly less political and slightly less well known. The idea, to the buyer, that they could be walking down the street and the illusive Captain could pass them and they’d never know was one of the reasons his work now sold for thousands.

“Charlie!” Chris moaned, rolling further into the sofa. “Go away.”

“As your manager, it’s my duty to make sure you’re up and out.”

Chris groaned, over exaggerating to the extreme. “Out?” He mumbled. “I don’t go out.”

“Now,” scolded Charlie mockingly, booting an empty bottle of whiskey out of the way so he could perch on the coffee table and hold out the coffee and the box of ibuprofen for his friend. “We both know that’s not true. You’ve walked at least a few miles going to and from that corner shop for more alcohol this month.”

Chris rolled and sat up, mirroring his friend and leaning on his knees. He didn’t really have a headache but the light hurt his eyes. So he took the painkillers with the coffee. “Shut up.” Chris managed, his tone embarrassingly pitiful.

Charlie, satisfied with his friends care, stood and looked at the mess he’d made the night before. “Now what wonders do you have for me today?” He asked, noticing the open tubs of paint.

“It’s on the right.”

The blond man made his way over and observed what his friend had drunkenly created the night before. Half of it was stunning, almost reminiscent of the pieces he used to make. The colour was wonderful and the detail incredible. It was a portrait and Charlie knew the face, of course he did. The Captain embellished his work with lots of tiny, intricately placed dots, giving all of his creations a sort of magical feeling. Then Charlie turned his attention to the other half. Chris, in his drunken madness had quite simply dumped a pot of what appeared to be wallpaper paste on the canvas. From there, he’d splattered his paint over it. Charlie had no doubt that he’d intended to cover the whole thing, as if to erase the whole thing from existence, but he must have been a bit wobbly because he only managed to cover the left side. “It’s, um . . . _interesting_.”

Chris stared at him and drank some more coffee. “Shit, Charlie, shit is the word you’re looking for.”

“No no!” He was quick to fix this. “I think we could do something with this. You know the artsy fartsy types, they love metaphors and the . . . wallpaper paste?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“It’s extremely symbolic. We could use this.”                                                                          

His fame had passed, well, it hadn’t passed per se, the Captain had just lost his muse; he had no passion for it anymore. Chris just meandered around his crappy apartment almost all day, every day, and he’d been doing it for over a year. He’d created some bad pieces and some truly honestly atrocious ones, the only good thing Charlie could take from this situation was that Chris still had it in him. Before he’d fetched the paste, this piece had been wonderful, Charlie could tell that from the right side of it. Charlie made his decision.

“You’ve gotta get out man.”

Chris groaned again and moved into the bedroom to pick up a semi-clean tee shirt from the floor. “I know, I know . . .”

“No!” Said Charlie. “I mean you truly need to get out. You need to go away.”

“Go away?!” Chris all but dismissed as he stripped his tee shirt.

“Yeah, look at you, man. You’ve lost weight-“

“Wow, thanks.” He said sarcastically, pulling a plain black tee over his head.

“-Hell will freeze over before you stop moping and I swear to God, if this alcohol thing gets any worse, I’m gonna force you into rehab.”

“Fuck off Charlie, I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Maybe not yet but you’re very close to being one. You know where you should go? Barcelona. Or Paris!”

“I don’t want to go anywhere full of tourists.”

“Dude, we live in New York. You must be used to them by now.”

“I am, and they piss me off.”

“Fine.” Charlie thought for a moment. “You know where I heard is good for inspiration?”

Chris perked a curious eyebrow. “Where?”

“Ireland.” Chris groaned and started searching for some jeans. “Come on man, think about it. Beautiful countryside, awesome people, stunning women.”

"Come on Charlie, the last thing I need right now is a woman."

"I think the first thing you need is a good fuck."

Chris stared at him. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly man, you can’t stay here.”

Chris knew he was right. He had a problem and this apartment was poisonous to him; he was sad, probably depressed, so lonely that his anxiety was at peak any time he didn’t have a bottle of alcohol in his hand, and so damn frustrated at his lack of motivation that he felt like clawing himself out of his own skin. “I know.” Was all he said, quietly.

“Can you leave asap?” Charlie asked.

Chris nodded and then sighed. “Who am I going to stay with? What if I’m just removing myself further away from everyone I know? What if I get worse when I’m there?”

Charlie chuckled softly. “Man, from experience, it’s impossible to feel lonely over there. Besides, I know some people who’ll put you up. Do you trust me?”

Chris looked to his friend and manager and paused for a moment.

Of course he trusted him. They’d grown up together, as soon as Chris decided that he couldn’t be his own manager anymore and keep his stress down enough to paint, Charlie was the first guy he thought of asking. “Yeah, course I do man.”

Charlie smiled wide. “Good! Now where’s that damn laptop of yours? We need to book you a plane.”

 

x x x

 

He flew into Belfast and rented a car. Charlie had hooked him up with some people in Donegal; a couple of hours drive from the border. He’d rented out a small house from AirBnB where he’d be staying. It was deep in the hills of Donegal but not so far away that he’d be completely secluded.

He stopped briefly in Derry, had some lunch and a big pot of tea to himself. He scribbled in his journal for a while but the odd sort of feeling he got from Derry wasn’t quite what he was looking for. He did a quick, inconspicuous sketch of the young woman behind the counter who kept glancing at him and then headed out to the walls, standing in the middle and observing the Catholic and Protestant sides.

The unionists had painted their curb stones red white and blue and there had recently been a fire next to the walls, he stood there for a while and drew the landscape before him. There were murals promoting peace in Derry on several building walls and the entire city had an odd sort of air about it. It was peaceful but there was still a sort of resentment deep inside it. It was bazaar. He noticed the remains of some charred pallets in the fire that had been out for at least several days. He glanced across to the Loyalist side and saw that they’d been selling pallets. He pondered on that irony for a moment and closed his book, heading back to the car. He’d bought a couple of CD’s for the drive and, being a big fan of almost all kinds of music, he was actually happily anticipating the drive.

He passed the border and everything changed. The countryside suddenly took over; the roads flowed with the land instead of ploughing right through it and everything just seemed to calm down.

The drive was uneventful but the music made it bearable.

He followed the slightly dodgy directions up into the hills. He was glad the weather had granted him a break and was holding the rain off. Up here, everything was angled; there was barely a flat section of land for several miles and the car was constantly climbing and descending various slopes, he wasn’t sure he’d even be confident enough to drive over 30mph over the twisty roads had it been raining. He passed a primary school with children in the playground and got chased by a dog when he passed a small pub. After around 30 minutes of searching for an elusive left turn, he decided to pull over and ask for directions.

He spotted a man in a long, bomber coat with a bag strapped to his back and pulled up slowly next to him. “Excuse me?” He asked, rolling down the window and stopping the car. The man was haggard against age and elements with a seemingly permanent frown etched into his features. He was slightly unkempt and unclean and he stared at Chris like he was the biggest inconvenience he’d found in several years. “I just wondered if you might know how to get to this address?” Chris quickly glanced to the piece of paper with the directions on it and picked it up, holding it out. When he looked back, the man was gone. Chris looked around and found the man walking away, behind the car, in the opposite direction he was walking before, muttering to himself.

Chris held his head out of the window and felt the New York urges he’d developed over the last few years rising in his throat but the Bostonian instincts kicked in and he simply said “Um, thank you?” Before rolling the window up and continuing driving.

He frowned when he came up to the pub where he’d been chased by the dog. He couldn’t remember turning around, he must have just travelled in a circle. He pulled the car up outside, figuring this was his best option for directions. He looked briefly around for any sign of that damned wolfhound and decided it was safe.

The loudest, most aggressive bark Chris had ever heard slipped through the tiny crack between the car door and the body. “Jesus Christ!” For some reason, he didn’t close the door. Instead, the dog managed to wriggle its little shit of a head inside the car. Chris released the door and tried to get further into the car.

But as soon as the door was open, the dog stopped barking and sat on the gravel. Chris stared at it. “Go away.” He said eventually and the dog started panting in a way that almost made it look like it was grinning at him.

The sound of two sets of hysteric laughter hit Chris’ ears and he looked through the window to see two old men sat outside the pub laughing. They were both wearing flat caps and old worn jackets. Chris glared at the dog and then back to the pub where a dark haired young woman wearing an apron emerged, handing two pints of Guinness to the old men.

She smiled, gave a short laugh and owl whistled. The beast looked towards her and then stood, plodding it’s way back towards the pub. Chris decided to venture out of the car, despite his embarrassment and decided quickly that he didn’t like the grins on all three of their faces. “Ye alright there?” The woman asked, smirking.

Chris had had just about enough. “Alright? Your dog almost took my leg off!”

She’d lifted some cutlery from her apron and started to wipe it with the dishcloth in her pocket. “It’s not _my_ dog. It’s _the_ dog. He just kinda comes and goes as he pleases. All the local dogs do it.”

“Excellent, so I almost got bitten by a stray, that’s great news.”

“Ooh.” She said, clearly trying to provoke the funny yank. “Yer a bit sarcastic aren’t you?”

“Thanks for the update. Could one of you please direct me to where I need to go?”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up and come inside.”

Chris kind of stared for a minute and then followed, deciding that if these were going to be the people he was talking to for the foreseeable future, he may as well get off on a good foot.

“Good luck.” Said one of the old men sceptically. Chris paused, adopted a confused look on his face and shook it before following the womans route.

It was a little dark inside but that was mostly because of the dark wood panels on the walls, the cigarette smoke stained ceiling and the practically black laminated floor. It was safe to say it could probably use a fresh lick of paint.

She was behind the bar, pouring a pint to customer who wasn’t there. Now that she was illuminated and he was closer, he could see her features. She had almost classic celtic looks; high cheekbones, plump lips, a straight nose and slightly sunken eyes making the vibrant emerald green of them pop from her pale skin. She was stunning and Chris felt those damn butterflies that he hadn’t felt in almost a year.

Chris knew himself, it was hard to have anxiety and – what he suspected to be – depression without knowing how your mind works. He was a sucker when it came to women; he fell fast and he fell hard and all it took was a stunning woman with more confidence than he could ever hope to have, with entrancing eyes and enticing hips and he was hooked. It had happened before and it would no doubt happen again and he was pretty certain it was gonna happen right now.

“So what’s your name Yankee?” She placed the three quarters full pint on the side and waited for the cream coloured liquid to turn black.

“Chris. Chris Evans.”

“And what are you doing in the hills of Donegal?”

Chris perched himself on a barstool and glanced around. “Ahh, trying to find a new muse I guess.”

She squinted sceptically at him and when she found him not wanting, she accepted his answer. “So you’re an artist?” She asked, he accent thick and alluring.

“I used to be,” She passed him the pint of Guinness she’d topped up and he quirked an eyebrow. “How much?”

“On the house.” He smiled and she pointed at him. “But don’t you go expectin’ them all the time now. You’ll have to pay for your next one.”

He smiled and chuckled. “Fine by me.”

“So how come you’re not an artist anymore but you’re still here looking for a muse?”

Chris chuckled and took a gulp of the drink, his body relaxing with the thick black liquid. It was damn good. “Technically, I still am an artist. My work still pays the bills but I haven’t made a piece worth anything in over a year.”

She nodded. “Since you lost your muse?”

“Exactly.”

“So how come you’re here looking? Wouldn’t it be easier to look in . . . what?” She pulled a guessing face. “New York?”

Chris smiled. “Close, I’ve been living in New York for a while but I’m from Boston.”

“Ach,” She sliced her hand through the air. “Same same.”

He frowned. “what?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Do you not know the saying ‘same, same but different’ ?”

Chris laughed. “Oh right! Yeah, I’ve heard that, I’ve just never heard it be shortened like that.”

She looked down to the glass she was drying and hummed.

Chris thought for a minute, observed the three quarters of the drink he had left and decided he should let the conversation continue. “Say, who’s the guy?”

She looked up from the glass, those emeralds splitting straight through his brain. “Which guy?”

Chris scratched his ear. “Umm, kinda hard to describe. Old, kinda rugged, carrying a rucksack and walking up the road?”

“Oh, I know who you’re on about. That’s John, he just kind of showed up one day, he lived in the wrecked little shed at the end of the road. Well, I say he lives there, he really just used it for shelter when he sleeps, the rest of the time he spends walking and looking for food.”

“He’s homeless?”

“You could say that but nobody’s ever really homeless around here. He comes in here and I make him tea or soup sometimes, everyone around here helps him out. Sometimes he’ll take a shower at the Doherty place so he’s well looked after really.”

Chris laughed. “He sounds like he’s living better than me at the minute.”

She scoffed and quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, Mr. My-Passion-Pays-The-Bills, let’s assume that a guy who sleeps in a draughty shed has it better than you.”

Chris smirked and cocked him head. “Ooh, did I sense a bit of sarcasm in that? Maybe a little bitterness?”

“Fuck off.” She went back to the new glass she was drying.

“So,” Chris readjusted himself with the Guinness. “What do you besides pot washing?”

She stared at him. “I’m not a pot-washer. I’m the landlady. My word is law around here. This is the only pub for miles, you piss me off and you have to go to The Oar and Anchor for yer pints and nobody wants that.” Chris laughed and watched a smirk raise on her lips. “So where are you going?”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, remembering why he was there in the first place. He pulled the, now crumpled, piece of paper with the address on it from his pocket. “I’m going here.”

She spun the paper and inspected it. “Ah right! You’re heading to the Connor house. We get lots of people in here after renting their place.”

“Hopefully it’ll just be me for a while.” Her green eyes met his blue ones and a smirk lifted his lips. Was he . . ? Yup, he was flirting. He hadn’t done that in altogether too long. It felt good.

She quirked an eyebrow and leant against the bar, her crossed arms accentuating her breasts. “Oh yeah, how come?” Good lord she was flirting back.

This felt really good. “I only have a one way ticket. My manager wants me to stay until I find what I’m looking for.”

“And how long do you expect that to take?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Who knows? Maybe I’ve already found it.” He drank the last of the pint and stood from the stool. “So where am I going?”

“From here, go down the road and at the garage, start looking for your next right turning. As soon as you turn, get the speed of your car right up because that hill is feckin’ lethal. It’s the steepest hill you’ll ever drive up but the view from that house is totally worth it. Just follow that road and on the left bend is your house for the foreseeable future.” She smiled a sort of smile that gave him butterflies and he nodded his understanding.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Will I see you later?”

“Later?” He quirked his eyebrow with another smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief at what could be inferred from that.

She laughed, quickly realising how it sounded. “Umm, it’s Friday, pretty much everyone in town will be down here tonight. I figured you’d want to be down here to meet people. Obviously.”

He grinned cheekily and nodded almost sarcastically. “Mmm hmm. Obviously.”

She rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips with a challenging look on her features. “Fight me Yankee.”

Chris just smiled. “Thank you for the drink.” She just nodded and picked up his glass from the bar as he made his way out. “Oh!” He spun quickly. “I never caught your name.”

She chuckled. “That’s because I never said it.”

He squinted. “And what do I have to do to get it?”

“Get down here later. Maybe buy me a drink?”

He grinned. "Deal."


	2. Buy Me a Drink?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris heads to the pub and meets the locals. He becomes more intrigued with the nameless woman.

She was right about that damn hill. He’d never made a scarier gear change in his entire life and the car made a noise he’d never ever heard a car make before but when he found the house and pulled up outside, he realised it was worth it.

Up here he could see for miles across the green expanse of the county. There were rainclouds drifting in from the west and, unlike the rain back in New York, this rain seemed right. The sunlight fell in spotlights through it and all of the greens and the grey and the white just completely shut his mind off for a moment or two.

He felt calm completely consume his body for a few seconds before his consciousness crept back in and his body returned to its normal state . . . or at least what he’d come to call normal over the last few years.

He turned his attention to the house. Outside, it was painted white and surrounded by trees with single glazed windows letting the light into the house. He unlocked the door and walked into a porch area where a couple of empty bowls lay on the floor (For a cat maybe?), through a wooden door was the kitchen. In here there was a bookshelf with hundreds of books stacked inside it behind a dark wooden dining table with a bouquet of plastic flowers sat in the middle. He walked straight to the sink across natural slate tiles and started running the tap, knowing that the water inside the pipes would have been stagnant for a while. Through a doorway on the left side of the kitchen was a study and a downstairs bathroom and the stairs leading upstairs. In the study was a desk for the writer who owned the property and a bookshelf extending the length of the back wall. There was a fold-out sofa bed upon which were several white and plastic sheets with a note in the owners writing saying ‘turn this room into your sanctuary, just try not to get paint on the floor’. Chris smiled, knowing that the man who owned the property understood. Through a doorway on the right of the kitchen was a living room with a wood-burning fire, two sofas and two more book cases. No Television. Chris smiled again. Upstairs were two bedrooms, one with two single beds and one with a double bed where the windows looked out upon that peaceful landscape and he decided immediately where he would be sleeping.

Chris dropped his bag onto the white sheets of the bed and stared out of the window for a moment.

Then he huffed a breath and set to work.

He took the bags of shopping from the car, just the essentials: bread, milk, teabags, pasta, a couple of pot noodles and cup-o-soups. Then there was some fresh meat that he lobbed into the freezer and some jars of sauces. Then he had heaps and heaps of fruits and veg. If there was anywhere to start getting healthy again, it was here.

He whipped himself up a quick stir fry and placed an old smooth jazz record onto the turntable on the shelf as he ate.

It was about 7 by the time he finished and the world was growing dark. So he lit the fire and turned the heating on before he went to shower and change. Tomorrow he’d have to go get some art supplies from the city but for now he was quite content with having the only think on his to do list be ‘get to the pub later’.

He went to shower and realised he’d soon have to buy some more shampoo. He changed into a slim fit pail of Levi’s, a white Henley and a dark blue jumper and as he combed his hair, he ran his fingers through the - slightly thicker than – stubble on his chin thinking maybe he should shave.

He decided no and left the bedroom to head back downstairs.

Eventually he left the house, pulling a black wind stopper on to protect him against the cold since it had stopped raining. It took 20 minutes to walk to the pub and when he walked in he was greeted with a ruckus of activity. It was now filled with a bright orange light and a warmth unlike any other; it was a warmth like laughter and community and friendship.

Nobody minded when he walked in except for one.

Her emerald eyes looked even brighter in this light and she smiled wide at him from behind the bar. He stood there for a minute, unsure of what to do.

He’d been a mess for a while now; he’d not had a direction or a purpose so he was used to this but there was something about this woman that just threw him off even more. She gestured for him to come over and he did as she bade without even a second thought. There were two others behind the bar; a tall, well-built rocker with a faux-hawk wearing jeans and a muscle top with the ‘Rise Against’ logo on the front. The other was an olive skinned, somewhat lanky woman with thick black eyeliner around her eyes who was maybe a few years younger than the landlady.

“Hey Evans. How’s the Connor house?”

Before he even had a chance to reply, the other man behind the bar had jutted in. “The Connor house? I didn’t know anyone was renting that again. I’m Lewis.”

“Chris.”

The two shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

He frowned as he pulled his hand back. “Yankee?”

Chris nodded with a chuckle, realising he should probably get used to people calling him that. “Yeah, from Boston.”

“Nice, I’ve got family in Boston.”

The woman laughed. “So do half of Ireland man.”

The pair laughed and Lewis went back to pulling pints. Chris smiled as the emerald-eyed woman passed a pint to a man and took his money before ringing it through. She was wearing black jeans and a too-big tee shirt that she'd pinned at the side to fit her better. When she'd finished serving the man, she looked to Chris and leant on the bar opposite him. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Anything for a pretty girl who told me I could buy her a drink.”

She smiled, glad that he'd practically admitted that he was only here for her. She watched his face for a moment. She'd observed him earlier in the day when he'd first walked in, back when he'd practically emanated anxiety and now he was stood before her, his muscles relaxed with a damn-near addictive smirk on his lips and glint of curiosity in his eyes. She pulled in a breath and spotted a man waiting to be served. “Slow don’t there Evans. I’m working, you’ll have to wait until closing.”

He shrugged. “I can hang around.”

She chuckled. “Okay. The usual Terry?” The man next to Chris nodded and she pulled a bottle of cider from the fridge, uncapping it and handing it to the man who haded her a handful of change in return and went back to his table. She turned back to the pump and started pouring various pints, uncapping some bottles and placing them on a tray. “Hey Lew, you and Clara take over for a minute. I’m gonna introduce this guy to a few people.” She picked up the tray and gestured for Chris to follow her.

He did so and followed her exact path through the people in the pub. From what he could tell there were 3 groups of people inside; the elders (Those aged around 70), their children (the ones aged around 40 or 50) and their grand children (who were aged around 20 to 30). In between that there were the people who had moved into the community instead of being born into it but they’d all gravitated towards people of their own age so the structure remained the same.

At a table in the corner were the youngest group of people in the bar. They practically cheered when she came over with the tray and the drinks had been grabbed almost before she could place it on the table. “Guys.” She announced. “This is Chris. Chris, this is the guys.” She pointed at each individual. “That’s Launa, Theo, Seb. Hey! He’s a Yankee too.” Chris laughed and waved at the brown haired man. “then we’ve got Kara, Danny and Brenna. These guys’ll look after you until my next break.” She patted his shoulder, leaving goosebumps to prickle beneath his jumper and then took herself and the now empty tray back to the bar.

“Does this count as an invasion yet?” joked Theo, a tall, lanky blonde man with his arm around the light haired woman, Launa. “We’ve got two Yanks, a Brit and an Italian.”

“It’s a foreign invasion!” Danny shouted dramatically and drunkenly. Chris figured he must have been from a different county since his accent held a slightly thicker twang.

“Be quiet man, we’ve never invaded anywhere.” Seb took a drink of the pint in front of him (not Guinness).

“Are you saying yourself personally has never invaded or that America has never invaded because if feel like you might be wrong about the latter.” Said Shannon who seemed to be less drunk than everyone else from across the table.

“Technically I’m Romanian.” Sebastian shrugged.

“Technically your mums Romanian.” Remarked Danny

The year was 2015 and that young man was still using your mum jokes. Simply because of that fact, Chris was laughing with the rest of them.

Sebastian laughed twice as hard. “I mean, yes. My mom is Romanian, congratulations.”

Everyone was laughing harder.

Seb turned to Chris. “Come sit here.” He pulled a chair from the table next to theirs and let Chris sit down.

She watched from the bar as he sat down with her friends and smiled.

“Ooh,” Said Lewis next to her. “I know that look.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He leant on the bar. “I would bet any money, right now that you’ll fall for him in less than two weeks.”

“That’s a stupid bet.”

“To you it is, because you know I’d win.”

“Shut up.”

It was at that moment that there was a small cheer from the opposite side of the room and she spied the instruments; a guitar, a Bodhran, an accordion, a fiddle and a mandolin as they came out of their cases. The men and women of the group spoke amongst themselves and then broke out into a song. Most knew it to be the Swallow Tail and it rose and fell in pitch just like the flight of the bird it was named after.

“I didn’t realise things like this actually happened.” Chris said to Sebastian.

The man laughed. “You bet, almost every Friday.”

One of the older men who'd been sat outside of the pub earlier than day when Chris had shown up went to the bar and she started pulling him a drink. “Say, Junior, won’t you sing for us tonight?” He was the same man who’d been sat outside when Chris had pulled up.

She laughed. “Same answer as every week Vincent.”

“But you have such a lovely voice.”

 _“And half the people in Ireland knew it.”_ Said Patrick, the man who’d been with him earlier, pointing out just how far the young woman was almost carried by her voice.

“You both know I don’t sing anymore. I’ll maybe pick up an instrument but that’s as good as you’re getting.”

She handed Vincent his drink and took his money before moving to the other side of the bar and serving the next customer.

Patrick looked to Vincent and Vincent looked to Patrick who wriggled his bristly moustache. “A lad needs to bed that girl, and fast.”

Both old men looked slowly over to the table of ‘young-uns’ in the corner before looking back to each other. _“The Yankee.”_ They agreed in unison before taking a couple of quick gulps of their drinks.

 

x x x

 

The last man was out.

The door was locked.

The bar had been wiped down.

Glasses had been placed in the dishwasher.

Chris and the mystery woman were alone.

“So you survived then?” She said as she went back behind the bar and leant against it as she normally did.

“I think they liked me.”

She smiled. “I think so too. I’ll be sure to formally invite you to any group outings we have.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, what’s your poison? You’ve only had three pints all night and at that rate, you might as well have driven down and that’s no fun.”

“I’m not a big fan of the Guinness.” He shrugged.

She gasped, melodramatically in a way that made him almost certain that half of Donegal had heard and were gasping with her. “Blasphemy!” She exclaimed before she placed a hand on her chest. “Is it me? Is my pulling not good enough for you?”

He laughed. “Believe me, your pulling was perfect but I’ll take a Heinneken.” She tutted exaggeratedly but fetched his drink nonetheless and then held it out like it was a bag of dog shit. Her disgusted eyes met his unimpressed ones and she fell out of character, laughing hard with him. Her laugh echoed around the room and settled in a comfortable place in his brain.

“And what about you? What can I buy you?”

She spun and stared at the back of the bar where the spirits hung. “You, sir, can buy me a double Jameson and coke.”

“Go for it.”

She poured herself the drink and rounded the bar to sit next to him.

He took a sip of his drink. “So, have I earned your name yet?”

She squinted like she was trying to judge his worthiness and then relaxed. “Kennedi. My names Kennedi.”

He smiled and chuckled. “I’ve never met a girl called Kennedi before.”

She shrugged. “You probably won’t again.”

“Good point.” He sipped his drink and pulled over a stool to sit on the opposite side of the bar to her.

“So have you found your muse yet?” She asked, pulling out a cloth and wiping the bar down again.

“Not yet I don’t think. I’ve sketched a few things but that’s all so far. This place as a whole is quite inspirational.”

Her eyes flicked up to his and his heart jumped. That scared him slightly. “It’s beautiful right?”

He sighed. “So stunning. Does it ever lose that stillness?”

She shook her head. “Never. It’s always like this.”

“Honestly, I could see myself living here.”

She smiled gently and took a drink. “Do you have your sketchbook on you?”

“Yeah, it’s a new one so there’s not much in it.”

“Could I take a look?”

Had this been 6 months ago, he would have said no straight away. He’d not had anything half decent in a sketchbook for altogether too long. But he’d decided, since being here, that he was going to go back to basics so everything in the book was just exactly what was in front of him. “Sure.”

He pulled the small book out of his pocket and passed it to her.

She took it and opened it. There was a figure he’d presumed was from the airport back in the states. He was slumped in a chair, his briefcase by his feet and his shirt untucked. Then there was a sketch of the perspective from the back of the plane, making the page appear almost 3 dimensional. A lion cub he must have drawn either from an image or memory on the plane and a couple of other animals. A woman in a café and then a couple of landscapes that he must have drawn on the drive. He’d quickly drawn the kitchen in the Connor house and then of various figured in the pub.

“These are really good.” She rotated the book to look at one of the landscapes he'd drawn.

Chris shrugged. “I normally work with biro or inks but I’ve decided to keep it simple for now.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t drawn the view from the house.”

He moaned. “It’s beautiful right!”

“Probably one of the best view around here to be honest.”

“I don’t really want to draw it until I’m really ready. I don’t feel like I could do it justice at the minute.”

“From these, I’m pretty sure you could.”

He scoffed and drank the rest of the drink.

“Wow,” She said. “You’re moving faster than me. You sure you wanna do that?”

He squinted. “Are you challenging me?”

“Dude, I could drink you under the table any day.”

“Oh yeah? You sure? I'm from Boston.”

"And all your drinking skill only came from the Irish gene's in you."

"How did you know I'm Irish."

She paused, not entirely sure herself how she knew really. He watched her body as she thought; her eyes seemed to go impossibly deeper as she looked at him and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. "I don't know. I think you just fit in here. It's like part of you is home."

His smiled grew and he huffed a humoured breath. "Thanks."

She pulled her eyes from his, downed the rest of her drink and rounded the bar. She ducked into the fridge and pulled out a green bottle of black liquid.

“Jeger? Really?”

“Oh, this is just the beginning Evans.”

She pulled out two shot and pint glasses. She measured out two shots of Jegermeister per glass and then pulled out some cans of Monster Energy. She topped up the pints with the drink and then turned back to the bar. She rummaged for a moment before pulling out a black bottle.

“That doesn’t look good.”

“Believe me, it’s the best drink in this bar.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Becherovka. It’s as strong as vodka but it tastes ten times nicer and makes you so happy it’s unreal.” She poured two shots and then went below the bar and emerged with a teaspoon and some sugar. She lowered a spoon of sugar gently into the golden liquid until it absorbed it. She started patting her pockets. “Do you have a lighter?”

Chris felt into his back pocket and pulled out the lighter.

She took it and quirked an eyebrow. “You smoke?”

“Unfortunately.” He shrugged.

“There must be something about struggling creative types that makes us smoke.”

"Yeah, we all want the struggling artist aesthetic." She laughed at his comment and sparked the light, holding the flame under the teaspoon.

He frowned. “Isn’t this how, like, half the drugs are made?”

She laughed. “Yes, exactly the same. You know, all those class A’s that use sugar as the main ingredient.”

“Shut up.”

The sugar was alight with a light blue green flame and she gently lowered it into the golden shot until the surface of the liquid was also on fire. She stirred it gently until the sugar had dissolved and then repeated the steps with the second shot.

She stared at the shot and chaser proudly and Chris cocked an eyebrow. “What the hell is that?” He asked.

She pointed dramatically at the bar. “Step one – take the shot. Step 2 – down the drink. Step 3 – repeat until everything starts feeling more fun.”

“Challenge accepted.”

They both placed their hands on the shots that were no longer on fire. “3. 2. 1.” They took the shots and Chris barely had time to register the strong alcoholic tanginess of the drink before the energy drink was making its way down his throat.

He heard her slam the glass on the bar a second before him and he suddenly had a doubt in his head as he realised that maybe, just maybe, she really could hold her drink better than him.

“Again?” She asked.

“Again."


	3. The Captain

It had stopped raining.

“I don’t trust you.” She’d said, a slight slur in her tone as she pulled a jacket around her shoulders.

“I shou’ jus’sleep here.” He said, pulling his own jacket on.

“No!” She said, in a tone that didn’t even give him the possibility of arguing. “I know you better than I think you know you.” She frowned, realising that wasn’t correct. “I know you better than I think . . . I know you better than you think I know you!” She exclaimed, happy to finally have the correct order.

“Success!” He threw his arms out dramatically.

“And you-“ She pointed at his chest and stumbled slightly, leaning against his chest. “Jesus Christ!” Her hands fell to his biceps and she frowned. “Did you say you’d lost weight?”

“Hmmmmhm.” He hummed, hiccupping slightly half way through.

“How buff were you before?!” She asked, before she could stop herself. “You look like . . . there are rugby balls in your arms.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

She shrugged. “Probably, that Becherovakava – that was definitely pronounced wrong – it’s wicked stuff.”

“Can fuckin’ tell.”

She laughed, still leaning against his chest, her slender hand slapping one of his pectorals at the hilarity. “Yer accents really strong.”

He frowned. “My manager thinks it’s always too strong.”

She smirked. “I think it’s sexy.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mmmhmm.” She blinked a few times. “Wha’was I sayin’? Oh yes! You!” She pointed. “You need to wake up in front of that view.”

He smirked. “Do you fancy waking up to that view?”

She chuckled. “How about we try to get you back to that view first?”

She turned, unlocked the door and grabbed Chris’ hand, dragging him from the pub. He stumbled and pulled her with him but managed to slow himself and her before either of them lost their footing. He held her by her arms and they laughed and continued to attempt to keep their footing.

Chris laughed harder. “How did this happen?! I have, like, 80 pounds on you!”

“I have no idea what that means. How many stone is that?” She giggled. “How much stone is that? Wait, that’s not right either. _Why can’t I talk?!”_ She pushed away from him and went to lock the door which took a full 5 minutes to do.

He came up behind her and rested his head on her shoulder, inhaling deeply. The act calmed them both and without even much contact, their heart beats synchronised and so did their breaths.

The lock clicked and she turned quickly to kiss his temple quickly and dramatically with a ‘mwah’ before taking his hand and leading him down the road.

Just to the left of the pub was a wooded area through which the road ran. There were no streetlights up here and their eyes had adjusted quickly to the dark, but it was still kind of freaky. Out in the dark in possibly the most remote place Chris had ever been was sort of unnerving and he wasn’t the only one feeling on edge.

He made a loud exclamation of gibberish and grabbed Kenendi’s waist. She screamed and her legs went from under her, taking them both to the floor.

“You bastard!” She exclaimed, punching his shoulder and, in one punch, giving him a horrific dead arm.

He laughed but eventually realised just how impressive that was. “Damn!” He said as she got to the feet and brushed herself down. “Where did you learn dead arms like that? Do you have a brother?”

“I do actually, yeah. But it was me beating him up that taught me that. I didn’t realise I did it that hard, sorry.”

He laughed, his head shooting back as he stood up. “Are you really apologising for punching me after I scared you?”

“Yeah, I hurt you.”

“And I scared you.”

“Yes you did!”

He laughed. “Aww, I’m sorry.”

“Now look who’s apologising!”

He stared for a moment. “Why are we arguing?”

“Aww, our first domestic.” She said sarcastically. “How cute.”

Chris laughed and slung his arm over her shoulder.

Half way back, as Chris could see the garage coming up, he stopped walking. “Do we have to _walk_ . . . up that hill?”

She sighed, determined. “Yes we do.”

He released her and started jogging. Surprisignly, he could jog better than he could walk when drunk. “What are you doing?” she called after him.

“Getting some momentum.”

She paused, as if double checking that she’d heard him right. Having mentally confirmed what he’d said, she shouted. “That’s not how it works!” As he rounded the corner and started up the hill.

She couldn’t see him from that angle but when she rounded the corner, she’d expected to see him collapsed not even half way up.

But instead, she found him still powering on almost three quarters of the way up.

“What the fuck?” She muttered to herself, already feeling the burn in her legs. She stumbled twice before he made it to the top and he stared at her from all the way up there as she struggled.

“Come on!” He teased.

“Well I’m sorry we’re not all built like superheroes.”

“I’ve lost weight remember?”

“Don’t feckin’ give me that bullshit!” She stopped and pulled in a huge breath. “You are a tank! Maybe give me a hand?”

Chris groaned melodramatically and plodded his way back down to her. He grabbed her hand. “Thank you, now can you give me a tow?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I have no power and full power. Those are the only two options.”

She chuckled quietly. “That’s what she said.”

“Seriously? Is everyone in this town stuck in 2010? First the ‘your mom’ jokes and now ‘that’s what she said’?”

“Hey!” She pointed. “Don’t dis the comical genius! And don’t take it to heart, I’m sure you have more than two speeds in the bedroom.”

“You bet. Now which one do you want?”

“Wait. Now or in the bedroom?”

“Now but if you want to make plans for the bedroom, you can do that too.”

She pulled in a long breath.

“Ready?”

“Nope.”

“Good!” Chris started running again, dragging her behind him. She whined but quickly realised that her protests took up valuable oxygen intake time.

But good God when they got to the top!

She’d never felt more tired in her entire life. What with it being way past the time she’d normally go to sleep and also with that huge-ass hill he’d just made her run up. She could have fallen to the floor and convinced her own brain that the gravelly tarmac was the most comfortable bed in the world.

But he powered on. He didn’t run but he kept a hold of her hand and towed her all the way to the door. “Okay!” She gasped. “I’m pretty sure you’ve made it now. I’m gonna head back.”

“Whoa wait! What?!”

“The Pub. I have to go home.”

“No no no no no! Because now I feel like I need to walk you home and then you won’t trust me and we’re both stuck forever until we’re sober.” In actual fact, the fresh air seemed to have sobered them both up significantly. The fact that he even managed to say that sentence without jumbling words and swapping letters proved that. “There’s plenty of beds here.”

She paused. “You don’t think this means anything though, right?” He just stared. “Because, I mean, I like you but I’m not really willing to sleep in a bed with you.” He just stared at her, not fully grasping what she meant. “I just . . . it’s been . . . there are things that I’m still . . . I don’t . . .” She groaned and he stepped forward.

“Hey, hey!” He took her hands. “I’m not taking anything from this. The flirting is just flirting. I like you too but I’m not going to rush into anything. You have shit to deal with and I have shit to deal with and neither of us are ready. That’s fine and even if I did sleep in the same bed with you, nothing would happen because a) Neither of us are ready and b) I couldn’t get a hard-on anyway with this much alcohol in my system.” Okay, maybe he was still a little drunk.

She laughed. “Point taken.” She looked into his sky blue orbs, practically glowing in the moonlight. “Will you let me borrow a shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Then okay, I’ll stay.”

Chris was disappointed – but not entirely surprised – to find that the heat in the house from the fire and heating earlier, had escaped through the single glazed windows. So he turned the heating on again and they made their way upstairs.

He told her she could sleep in either one of the single beds or in the double, he didn’t mind. But she said that since all his stuff was in the double bedroom, she’d feel better taking the single in case he needed anything when she was in there and it made things awkward and yada yada yada.

He found her an old band tee and a spare toothbrush from the airing cupboard and she kissed his cheek good night, the warmth she left on the spot and the sensation of the smoothness of her skin against his made him smile.

He washed, brushed his teeth and got into the bed. The room warmed quickly with the heating and he soon fell asleep.

He must have been asleep for a couple of hours when heard creaking floorboards of somebody moving around. They stopped and he waited for a minute before he let himself assume the worst. “Evans?” There was a soft knock on his door and he relaxed.

“Yeah.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

The door opened a crack and when the petite shivering woman felt how warm it was, she practically flung herself inside. “It’s freezing in that room, I actually can’t sleep because I’m shivering that much.” The air outside the thick blanket actually felt pretty cold to Chris so he knew she can’t have been lying.

“Shit, maybe the radiators don’t work in there. Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s fine but . . .” She looked to her bare feet and he suddenly became aware of the perfect curve of her legs and he wished his shirts were a tiny bit smaller just so he could follow the curves.

“But what?”

“Could I maybe sleep in here? It seems to be the only room that’s actually warm. I’ll just crash on the couch over there.” She made her way towards the tiny little couch next to the window.

“No no no!” He sat up quickly. “You don’t have to sleep there, I will. Just let me put on some bottoms.”

She paused. “Do you have nothing on?”

He laughed. “No, I do. Only boxers though.”

She relaxed. “Oh right. Wait, no! I can’t kick you out of bed!”

“Yes, you can.” He grabbed the bottoms from the suitcase next to his bed and started pulling them on.

“No, no! Honestly, if you promise . . . if you promise me you won’t try anything, you . . . you can stay in the bed.”

“No, if you’re not comfortable, I’m fine on the couch.”

“Seriously Evans. I trust you.” He paused and looked at the slender woman standing in the moonlight but still didn’t wasn’t convinced she was 100% okay with sleeping in the bed with him. She smiled and laughed. “Just don’t ba a dick.” Okay, that convinced him.

He laughed and laid back down. “Yes ma’am.”

She got under the covers and instantly moved closer to him. “Oh my God, you’re like a furnace.”

He chuckled. “So I’ve been told. This isn’t just a ploy to get closer to me is it?”

“Believe me, Evans. If I had planned this in the slightest bit, we’d already be touching each other in much more sexual ways and I wouldn’t be getting my freezing cold feet as close as possible to your legs. Mainly because I don’t want your legs getting cold but also because feet are not sexy . . . at all.”

“Agreed.” She inched closer, to the extent that if he didn’t move his arms right now, he was going to touch somewhere inappropriate. “Hang on.”

“Why?”

“You gotta move further forward.”

“Why?”

“Because We’re going to end up spooning.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“I’m serious, just do it. I’m so cold right now, I don’t even care.”

“Literally 30 seconds ago you were telling me not to try anything.”

“Are you going to?”

“No.”

“Well there you go then.” She sat up, annoyingly letting the cold air under the covers, and started pulling her hair up into a bun.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll never get to sleep with my hair in your face. It’s like the only downside to spooning.”

He laughed, realising she was right and moved his arm so she could lay upon his bicep comfortably. He draped his arm over her waist. “Is this okay?”

“Fine. Good night.”

 

 

 

He woke up at around midday to the sound of his front door closing. He shot up and realised that the space next to him was empty and there was a note and a cup of coffee on the cabinet. He rubbed his eyes, sat up, picked up the note and the coffee and made his way to the window to confirm what he suspected.

Kennedi was walking down the hill, the late morning sunlight illuminating her figure and that of the wolfhound by her heel.

_‘Evans,’ the note read. ‘I had to leave to feed the dog. Thanks for the night, your tab is about €45, I’ll tot up when I get back. Also, thanks for the coffee and the bacon. We’re going into town tonight if you want to join us? Taxi pick up from the pub at 11, hope to see you. If you want to get art supplies, there’s a little shop called Gatsby’s in town. Say you’re a friend of mine and Harold will get you everything you want. He’ll order anything he doesn’t have in stock. See you soon and thanks again._

_PS – I was joking about the tab . . . I wasn’t joking about the bacon or the coffee, there’s a sandwich for you on the kitchen table, see you soon.’_

He smiled and sipped the coffee that she’d somehow managed to get perfect to his taste.

He paused, watching her retreating figure. There was something about sleeping net to someone, not fucking, just sleeping. It was intimate and gentle and altogether too much for Chris’ healing heart to take.

She was right when she said he needed to wake up in front of the view. In the morning, there was just something about the sun that made it even more breath-taking.

He ate the bacon sandwich she’d made him and finished the coffee to the sound of a gypsy folk record at the table that looked straight through the window and down into the stunning valley behind the house.

He then got dressed and got into the car to head into town.

The town was just like any other secluded village centre, except this one was surrounded entirely by green valleys and hills and the stone buildings all seemed to blend in with the surroundings. If there was one thing he’d noticed about this place, it was that everything flowed with the land; the buildings, the roads, the people. It all just seemed so much more natural than anywhere else he’d been.

Gatsby’s was a small stone building in the centre of the town with an elegant calligraphy sign over the door. Inside, the walls were a pristine white with the colours of the paints and various materials standing out in a stark contrast. He browsed for a minute, making a mental list of everything he needed.

“Can I help you?” Asked an old man as he emerged from a door behind a desk.

“Hi,” greeted Chris, in his long Boston drawl, still sort of deciding what he needed. “I’m a friend of Kennedi’s. I need to stock up on the essentials.”

The man frowned. “Essentials?”

Chris quickly remembered that this wasn’t his local New York art shop and laughed at himself. “Umm, acrylics, oils, coloured pencils, a roll of canvas, inks and an a4 and a3 sketchbook.”

The guy chuckled. “You’ll be staying here for a while then?”

Chris smiled. “Seems it.”

“So you’re an artist.” It was a presumption, not a question, as the old man rounded his desk and made his way towards the paints. “Here to find yer muse no doubt.”

Chris chuckled. “How could you tell?”

“Well yer a handsome man.” He said. “But you’re looking a little downtrodden, it has to be said and if you’re an artist there’s no bigger loss than losing yer inspiration . . .” He paused as he reached up to pull down a box full of tubes of paint. “And as a man, there’s no bigger loss than losing yer lass.”

Chris paused. “How did you know?”

“A man comes out here-“ He grabbed two larger tubs of white and black paint and handed them to Chris. “To escape whatever is going on in his own home. He creates a new home in the hills, hoping to find what he lost. The biggest ripple in the waters of a man is a love lost so naturally he comes to the calmest place there is. You’re not the first, believe me, you’re not the first. We’ve had musicians, writers, artist like yerself, we’ve even had some business and sports men.”

“And did they all find what they were looking for?”

“Eye, well some of them were looking for stillness, internally, they were looking for serenity and peace. Others were looking for something more . . . something a tad more warm-blooded. And I’ll tell you now there’s nothing on this planet more addictive than the love of a lass but there’s nothing more healing than the love of a _country_ lass. So some of them found it and kept it, and some of them used it and left it and some of them never really found it at all. The hills can be a cruel mistress.”

By now Chris’ arms were full of almost everything he’d asked for. The man went over to the sketchbooks and pulled down the highest quality ones he had in stock in the sized Chris had asked for and made his way back towards the counter. “Are ye happy with everything?” Harold asked.

Chris checked everything quickly and nodded. “That looks to be everything. Thank you.”

Harold totter up the price and then gave him a generous discount. “What was that for?” Chris asked, placing his card into the reader and waiting for it to ask for his pin.

“Any friend of Kennedi’s deserves a discount.”

Chris chuckled. Who the hell was she? He understood that in a village this small, everybody knew everybody else but why was she so important that her name got her such special treatment. “How come?”

“Well the creative types around here look after each other. She was one of the most prominent musicians to come out of this town-“

“Wait, she’s a musician?”

Harold sighed. “Eye, well she was. Then after the accident, she couldn’t bear to do it anymore. She toured for a living for almost 5 years, even had a world tour in the works before she stopped.”

He wanted to ask why she stopped. What kind of accident could possibly have provoked her to give up a dream?

But Chris had never liked gossip and in small towns, mews travels fast and not always accurately.

So he left it, loaded up the supplies into the car and thanked Harold. "Just one thing!" Said the shop owner before Chris left. "Be careful. She's not had an easy time has our Kennedi, she'll be hard work but if you love her and love her right, she'll be the best thing you've ever had. But you won't be the first to feel that way." Chris pondered those words for a moment before nodding and making his way to a café for some lunch.

He sat for a moment with his cup of tea and hand made burger  and wondered what the hell Harold had meant. He was so intrigued by this woman. He wanted to know every inch of her brain, every centimetre of her skin, every fibre of her being. But there was so much mystery surrounding her than he wasn't sure he'd like who she really was. 

But there was an itchign in his fingers and he decided to sketch some more. He’d drawn just about everyone in the café, he’d finished his food and only had half his coffee left but his hand kept moving on a new page. He always started in the centre of the face so he drew a nose and then followed the flow of the eyebrows so he could shape the eyes beneath them. The eyes were smiling so he moved down to the lips. They didn’t really look like they were smiling yet but he’d change that with shading. He drew the jawline and the hair and neck. He even managed to shade it pretty realistically. In the end he had a slightly rushed but relatively accurate portrait. He didn’t really know who it was but it was a woman. He had a thought of who it might be but pushed it quickly out – not yet!

He smiled and signed it ‘Captain’ at the bottom.


	4. Why Stop?

“Are you serious!?” Exclaimed Theo. “No no no! Marquez could beat Rossi any day of the week!”

“Fuck off!” Replied Kennedi from the middle seat of the taxi. “Rossi’s a legend! Marquez just hasn’t learn where his limits are yet.”

Chris had no idea how this, rather heated, argument had come about but he was kind of surprised that Kennedi knew so much about MotoGP. For some reason he just hadn’t pegged her (or Theo to be frank) as fans of motorbikes but, once again, she continued to surprise him. To be fair, Chris himself knew jack shit about the subject so he left them to it. The only way this affected him is that Kennedi kept leaning into him in her attempts to better look at Theo.

He couldn’t stop thinking about why she might have stopped playing music. He’d been in Ireland for a few days now and so far, he’d never even heard her open her mouth to sing a note. There had been so much music in the pub the night before and she hadn’t so much as sang along or even picked up an instrument and joined in.

“Where exactly are we going?” Chris asked Shannon, who’d taken the front seat in hopes that the low cut top and her exemplary conversation skills might just get them a discount on the taxi fare.

“To Maxine’s.”

“Who the hell is Maxine?”

She laughed. “It’s not a person, it’s a club. It’s sort of like an old 40’s style backstreet bar but the drinks are cheap and the music’s good so we tend to start the night there. Then we’ll probably club crawl until we get too drunk to stay out any longer.”

Chris smiled. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

It didn’t take them long to get there. Maxine’s was a large, brick building with a red cursive neon sign advertising the name. As they entered, they went through a pair of curtains, paid the €3 club entrance and went through another pair of curtains to come out on a balcony overlooking the club floor. The balcony extended the length of the rounded room and on the outer edge were tables in little alcoves in the wall. There was a set of steps at either side of the balcony leading onto a dance floor with a small stage in the centre. Tonight, there was some kind of burlesque night drawing to a close and it fit the persona of the bar perfectly. With the red walls and black netting draped from the ceiling, there was an air of seduction to the place and Chris practically fell in love.

He stood at the top of the stairs and just took in the aura of the place; the smell of rum and exotic perfumes and the laughter of patrons and the sweeping notes of the burlesque music. Kennedi was next to him, smiling at him. “Cool huh?”

He nodded and sighed out a “Yeah.”

She linked her arm in his and started her way down the stairs. “Come on, you have to try a Mine Bomb.”

A Mine Bomb, it turned out, was a blue WKD with 2 shots of cherry vodka, a shot of cherry Corkys and some cherry brandy. The result was fruit juice; fruit juice that was so strong (but didn’t taste like it) that the hashtag Bombover trended locally on twitter almost every weekend as people woke up with a very special kind of hangover from the drink.

After two of these and a shot of Jegermeister, Chris felt inspired enough by the place and people inside it that he managed to draw two of the Burlesque women accurately enough for The Captain to sign them finished sketches.

He felt two hands on his shoulders, slowly sliding down his front and he turned to see Kennedi. “Feeling inspired?” She smirked, sitting down beside him and slowly dragging her hand across the skin on the back of his neck before removing them completely.

She was wearing a black lace top with a strapless black bra underneath, leaving most of the skin of her torso uncovered. She then wore a high-waisted skirt that left just enough to the imagination regarding her long, perfectly shapely legs and a pair of black stilletos. She was stunning and Chris would probably have crawled on his hands and knees behind her for the chance to have her for just one night

“Just enough to draw a couple of people.” He smiled at her.

“Chris!” She exclaimed, grabbing the sketchbook and staring in awe. “These are incredible!”

He shrugged. “They’re still not as good as they used to be.”

She leant forward to make his eyes meet hers. “But they’re good. You’re getting there. Looks like being here might be healthy for you.”

He chuckled and was about to speak when her eyes met someone behind him. “Sal?!” She stood and a male voice with a slightly Italian twang rang out.

“Kennedi!”

Chris turned to see her and the older man embrace and pull back to look at each other. “I didn’t realise you were working here again.”

“I am promoting now!” He said, annunciating each word. “This is my show!”

She smiled. “Sal that’s incredible.”

“Indeed it is!” The Italian was stronger now and he looked at her carefully. “It would be nice to see you up on that stage again!” Chris watched her eyes drift to his and the smile small gently from her lips. “Ah!” The man continued. “I have . . . ah-“ He made an extravagant arm gesture to search for the phrase. “You say ‘put my foot in it’.” She laughed with the man and he patted her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. But when you are ready, you call me. I will find you somewhere to play.”

She forced a smile again. “Will do Sal.”

“Good good! You have a fun night!”

“Thanks, you too.”

Sal moved on to greet someone else and Kennedi sat back down. Chris took a sip of the vibrant red drink and looked to her. Maybe this was his chance to find out. “So you’re a musician.”

She tipped her head back and practically poured half her drink directly into her stomach and then shook her head. “I used to be.”

“Why did you stop?”

She shook her head and sniffled, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s a long story.”

He shrugged. “We have time.”

She drank again. “Not enough time.”

He placed his hand on her knee and forced her emerald eyes to his own. “Please, I’d like to know.” She stared into his sky blue orbs as if she was searching for any possible sign that he might be lying. She opened her mouth a couple of times and then looked away quickly to grab her drink as someone clapped Chris on the shoulder.

“Look at you two getting all cosy.” Came Theo’s voice.

“Come on,” Said Sebastian coming up behind Theo. “Cyx is open now and it’s €2 entry before 12.”

Kennedi had finished her drink and was up before Chris could meet her eyes again. She was with Kara as they climbed the stairs and made their way out of the bar.

“Dude,” said Sebastian. “What did you do?” He asked, watching as Kennedi and his girlfriend went.

Chris shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Well, if I were you, man,” He said as they followed the rest of the guys. “I wouldn’t let that one go.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not an idiot. I think you might be good for her, but she has the temper of a true Irish, I’d fix this quickly. And besides, have you seen those legs?” Sebastian and Chris laughed. “Don’t tell my girlfriend I said that.”

He was torn between which part of that sentence to overthink, since his brain was being a douche at the minute. Firstly there was the fact that other people admired Kennedi possibly as much as he did, but he didn’t own her, even if he managed to get with her, he never would. Secondly there was the fact that she seemed to have an almost infamous temper. But so far, Chris wouldn’t call it a temper, he’d just call it a fire. Then, good God, there was the realisation that it had only been two days and other people had been noticing how well the pair were getting along. On the one hand, he could be happy, because maybe people were noticing how she looked at him and not just his developing infatuation. But on the other hand, maybe they just saw him, the lost artist, trailing after the stunning Irish musician . . . or ex musician. “My lips are sealed.”

He decided to just push his thoughts behind the alcohol.

They passed the two set of curtains again and both Chris and Sebastian pulled packs of cigarettes out of their pockets. Seb looked to Chris and then past him. He looked back to Chris and nodded behind him. Chris turned to see Kenendi lighting her own cigarette.

Sebastian walked on while Chris waited for her. She looked up to him, as if waiting for him to say something.

“Listen,” He said. “Let’s just forget it. You don’t have to tell me anything but, on the off chance you want to talk, I’m all ears.”

Her lips stayed closed and she started walking.

Chris assumed that that was it. He’d fucking blew it by being too pushy.

She grabbed his hand, laced her fingers with his and pulled him along beside her.

They stayed behind the group as they walked, as if this was a secret they didn’t want anyone to know. But her hand in his and her presence next to him was soothing to him and he liked it, his body wanted her impossibly closer.

Cyx was an alternative nightclub with a largely student and 20+ presence. The group headed straight to the bar and Chris bought Kennedi a drink despite how overpriced they were. Then they headed downstairs where they played the music that the majority of the group liked.

Chris hadn’t been to a nightclub like this in a couple of years. It was only midnight and there were already dozens of people dancing together and occasionally making out.

Chris lost Kennedi about an hour after they arrived but the club was so packed and he was drunk enough to decide it was better to sit, maybe sketch a few figures and wait for somebody else to find him. He hoped they wouldn’t have moved to another club without him.

“Hey sexy.” She was in his lap; just full on sat on his lap with her arms around his neck.

He chuckled. “Hello. How are you?”

“I am just excellent thank you.” She didn’t looked drunk but that mischievous look in her eye had increased tenfold. She puckered her lips slightly and stared directly into his eyes. “You, Mr Evans,” She smirked. “Have wandering hands.”

He was suddenly aware that one had was resting on her hip, close to her ass and the second was on her thigh, stroking gently as her emerald eyes preoccupied him.

Instead of being embarrassed like he normally would, he just licked his lips and gathered all his – mostly Dutch – courage. “It’s hard to not have when you’re in my lap like this.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked down to his lips where his tongue had darted out to lick them. Her fingers were toying with the little bit of hair at the back of his neck and it ran shivers down his spine. “Well I’m sorry. Is this distracting you?”

“Not at all, I’m actually well educated in how to handle women sitting in my lap?”

“Oh right. Of course!” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. “I bet women really love the struggling artist types. The dirty clothes and the lack of money is really appealing to them.”

He shrugged and linked eyes directly with her. “Worked on you.”

She smiled and licked her own lips; the lips he’d really like to bite right about now. She rolled her shoulders and looked away nonchalantly. “Maybe.”

He lifted his hand from her leg and used a single finger to bring her eyes back to his. He paused, realising the flecks of gold and black in her dark green eyes as the club lights hit them. “Definitely.” He leaned in and their lips connected.

On the surface, it wasn’t anything extraordinary. Just two sets of soft lips touching in a room where they were joined by dozens of others in the same situation and internally they were in the same situation as everyone who’d ever fallen in love had been in. It wasn’t love yet but it was quite possibly the beginnings of it. The difference was that there was something special between Kennedi and Chris, they didn’t really know each other’s stories but they knew that the other was in a similar situation. They were two stray souls that had been wandering around for so long and, in each other, they had found sanctuary; that much was obvious now.

His breath was heavy against her cheek as they moved and Chris darted his tongue out to lick her lower lip. She moaned slightly, just enough for him to hear over the music and one of his hands went into her hair as she allowed him access into her hair.

Now it got good.

Any old fool can put their lips against someone else’s, it takes true skill to make a deeper kiss interesting. And good God! If Chris had learnt one thing in all his years, he’d learnt how to kiss. He invaded her mouth and completely took control and if that wasn’t enough from the previously shy artist, this kiss was like a mental exercise.

Kennedi was not a naturally submissive person and she wanted to hold her own. He repeatedly invaded and withdrew from her mouth, rubbing his tongue against hers in different ways and she had to keep up. He took his time but he was very much in control. But something about that dominance turned her on more than he’d ever understand so just to gain a little more control, she pulled back. “Slow down lover boy.” His eyes were dilated and his lips had a tint of her lipstick on them.

She ran her thumb over his lips to rub it away and slow the pace down.

All the while she could feel him watching her and she flicked her eyes up to his with a smile. She pecked his lips. “Come on, we’ve got a couple more hours on the town before I’ll let you take me home.”

She stood, grabbed his hand and walked him up the stairs where the rest of the group were waiting by the bar. He trailed behind her on the stairs, her hand still in his and he watched her ass moved beneath the skirt.

Her hand disconnected from his for a moment as she made a beeline for Launa and Kara. Chris stopped by Seb but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. She was just stunning and knew exactly how to get him going. He may have been in control but she was the one who had left him wanting more.

Seb clapped him on the back. “I recon you fixed it.”

Chris laughed as Kennedi’s eyes moved up to his. “Yeah, I think so too.”

 

 x x x

 

The taxi was quieter now. The same people were in this car as had been when they went to the club. They’d gone to two other clubs and they’d danced and teased each other for so long that they were now aching to touch and kiss.

But Kennedi was leaning against Chris’ shoulder and by her breathing, she sounded to be asleep. Theo was leaning against the window with his eyes shut and Shannon was cheerily talking to talk to the taxi driver again.

The taxi pulled up outside the Connor house and Chris moved his shoulder slightly. “Hey Edi? Are you coming with me or going back to the pub.”

She sighed. “I don’t wanna go to the pub. I’ll come here.”

They said goodbye to Shannon and Theo and went inside. Chris turned the heating on and as he was staring at the controller, he felt her walk up behind him and slip hands up his tee shirt. “Are you sure you want to keep playing this game?” She hummed, kissing her neck. “You were asleep a minute ago.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“You looked to be pretty asleep to me.” He turned to her.

She paused. “I don’t want people to know something’s going on here. Now I can just say I went to sleep and they’ll back me up saying that I was asleep in the car.”

Chris laughed, ignoring the first part of the sentence. “You fucking minx.” He kissed her quickly and then pulled back, looking at her face for any sign of protest. She smiled and he kissed her harder, keeping one hand on her jaw and moving the other down to her ass.

She breathed heavily into his mouth as he gripped the flesh and ground his hips against hers. She kissed him again but had to stop when her back was against the wall and arousal took over. He loved quickly down to her neck, looking for anything to bite down on as their hips created more friction heat on their pants.

She shook her head but he assumed it was just a movement of arousal and she made no verbal protest. But still, it threw him off.

He backed away and she looked to him with dilated eyes and a smirk.

She moved down and got on her knees.

Holy fuck!

She kissed his hip and he braced himself against the sideboard; knuckles going white as she unbuckled his belt. So much for control.

She breathed on him through his boxers and he felt himself twitch

“oh fuck!” he put his head back and his eyes closed.

They hadn’t even made it upstairs. She was giving him a blowy in the damn kitchen

She pulled his boxers always and immediately licked a stripe along the base of him. She slipped her mouth over his head and the groan that left his mouth was addictive.

Her hand stroked his shaft and she flicked that sweet spot beneath his head with her tongue, her saliva creating lube for her hand.

God, that was incredible. What with the alcohol and that experienced mouth over his cock and those lips he knew so well.

Wait...

He didn’t know these lips.

These lips were new, so whose lips had he thought they were for a minute.

Oh shit!

“stop, stop!” She pulled back and swallowed visibly

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes glanced back to his crotch as he hurriedly tucked himself back in.

He looked into her confused eyes and tried to tell her, honestly, he did. But how do you tell the woman who, 30 seconds ago, was giving you a blow job, that you were thinking about your ex while she was doing it.

 Chris certainly couldn't.

He opened his mouth uncountable times, her confused eyes still looking into his. “I –“ He sighed. “I can't tell you.” He hoped and prayed to God that she'd just accept that.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't.

“Right, okay.” She looked down quickly, jamming her cheek behind her lips, stopping herself from being overly rude. “Guess I’ll be off then.” She got to her feet and brushed herself off before turning and heading to the door. It’s better to say nothing than to say something mean after all.

He ran after her and grabbed her arm with the hand that moments ago had been caressing her lovingly. “No, Edi, please. Its not you. Its my fault.”

She just stared at him incredulously and shook off his grip. “Seriously? It’s not you it’s me? Didn’t peg you as a bullshit kind of guy, Chris.”

“Please, it’s not bullshit, I promise.” He begged.

“Chris, you’re a guy, you don’t just lose boners randomly. I'm going down on you and you go soft, how else am I supposed to perceive that?”

“Please, just don't go.”

“Whatever.” She was at the door, he couldn’t stop her. “I'll talk to you soon I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently trying to study for exams so chapters may not be consistent. I'm trying to get the chapters up every Friday but the more you give Kudos and Comment, the more consistent the chapters will be. Follow me on tumblr (earphonesalwaysin) for updates.


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